


Five Buttons

by Thorinsmut



Series: Five Buttons [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Complete, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a one-shot of Bofur/Bilbo cuteness and turned into a series of six chapters that spanned the book and beyond.<br/>It has smut, it has sadness, but most of all it has lots and lots of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40374146928/five-buttons-master-post  
> Literary criticisms are appreciated.

“ _They took off their clothes and bathed in the river, which was shallow and clear and stony at the ford. When they had dried in the sun, which was now strong and warm, they were refreshed, if still sore and a little hungry.”_

_J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter VII – Queer Lodgings_

“He’s not said a thing, but you can see it’s bothering him.” Bofur said, quietly. The Company was lounging in the warm sun beside the river while their clothes dried. The sun felt good on their bare skin, and they were all looking forward to smelling a bit less like Goblin caves. Thorin and Dwalin were sharing the last of their pipe-weed, Kili was tending to his arrows, and the rest of the others were idly throwing little stones into the water or napping… Bilbo had wandered off a little bit to turn his clothes so they dried evenly.  
“Who, what?” Dori asked, looking around. Everyone else also looked confused.  
“Well… Bilbo.” Bofur was surprised no one else had noticed, “He’s lost his shiny brass buttons.” Everyone looked over at the Hobbit, who was neatly straightening his clothes so they wouldn’t dry wrinkled. He ran his hand over the front of his green vest, sighing.  
“He’s still got one left.” Balin pointed out, “But I can see what you mean.”  
“Don’t stare.” Bofur warned, and everyone quickly looked elsewhere as Bilbo began to meander back, pausing to skip a stone here and there… he had a good arm.  
“He had, five buttons?” Bofur guessed, trying to remember. “I was thinking I could carve him some, but buttons are tricky things… they take time…”  
Kili nudged Fili with his toe, the blond brother cracked an eye open, looking up at his younger brother.  
“You think we could make a button for Bilbo?” Kili asked, and Fili nodded, closing his eyes to resume his nap.  
“We’ll do one.” Kili volunteered with a grin.  
“I think I still remember how to do buttons…” Dori mused, stroking his short gray beard, “I used to make the loveliest knotted buttons… I’ll do one.”  
“I’ll do one.” Dwalin’s gruff voice broke in unexpectedly, the tattooed Dwarf looked away from their curious expressions, puffing on his pipe as though he hadn’t said anything.  
“So that’s settled.” Bofur smiled, thinking how pleased Bilbo would be to have his vest closed again. He was a creature of comfort, and he had precious few out on this adventure. A few buttons to make himself look dapper again would likely keep his spirits up. Bofur remembered how sad the hobbit had seemed when he was leaving them just before the Goblins attacked… no. They couldn’t afford to have him unhappy, and hand made buttons would help him feel like he was one of them… not that anyone had any question of that after how he’d faced down Azog… and Bofur smiled. He’d just figured out why Dwalin had volunteered to do one of the buttons.  
No one seemed to be in much of a hurry, but eventually Dwalin put on his boots (and nothing else) and wandered over to the base of the Carrock, where he stomped on some Warg bones he’d spotted earlier. He came back with a few pieces, and began whittling them idly… Dori pulled a row out of the bottom of Ori’s cardigan and began twisting and knotting the wool into a shape, occasionally tutting at himself and unknotting bits he’d got wrong…. Fili and Kili wandered away from the group to throw small rocks at larger rocks until they had gathered a few pretty rock chips to work with, the young brothers sitting knee-to-knee and each carefully chipping at one, occasionally exchanging chips… and Bofur himself found a piece of driftwood that was firm and solid in the middle and began carving it into pieces. He knew from experience that he would ruin one or two before he got one that didn’t split.  
When they were all dry and rested, and Thorin’s ribs had been declared bruised but not broken, they all dressed themselves and Gandalf led them on.  
Fili and Kili shared a smile with Bofur as they caught sight of Bilbo absentmindedly make as if to button his vest buttons, then drop his hand with a sigh.

They had a good few days in Beorn’s home, though the clever animals took a little getting used to. They all ate well, and they slept well all together in the great hall, and all in all it was a wonderful rest in a place of safety after all they had been through already.  
Fili and Kili had broken both the stone buttons they were working on, so they’d had to start over with fresh rock chips, and Dori had to start over several times when the button began to turn out uneven, Dwalin wouldn’t let anyone see his button of Warg bone but he whittled away at it whenever he thought nobody was watching. Bofur had, predictably, broken the first two buttons, but had a very good feeling about the third. He’d gotten a different piece of wood and this one seemed much closer-grained and less likely to split when he drilled out the button holes.  
Bilbo had spent his time talking to the animals and exploring the gardens. It was good to see the little hobbit, who’d been so homesick in the mountains, looking happy again.  
The last night before they were to leave, Bofur and Dori were sitting by the fire, putting the finishing touches on their buttons. Bofur was using a little beeswax he’d taken from one of the candles to seal his wooden button, while Dori had used layer after layer of pine pitch to seal his knotted wool button until it was hard and smooth and rounded and reminded Bofur of things he’d found encased in amber back in his mining days.  
Bofur held his button up to the fire, proud of it. It was a handsome button of solid red heartwood, a flat disc with a distinct rim and two even holes in the middle.  
Kili saw the two of them admiring their buttons and brought his and Fili’s button over. The young dwarf was beaming with pride, he sat down in front of the fire with them and handed Bofur his button for examination. It was a square button with rounded edges of a pale green stone, the two holes set on the diagonal. The brothers had spent a long time passing it back and forth, shaping and polishing it, and the care they had taken showed. Bofur nodded his approval and handed it back.  
Dwalin came over and sat beside them.  
“Yours is done too?” Kili asked, and the taciturn warrior nodded back.  
“Then let’s get Bilbo over here.” Bofur grinned, getting his flute out. After a moment of thought, he began to play a tune he was sure he hadn’t played since the Hobbit joined the Company. The others gave him a strange look, but he winked at them, stomping his boots to the beat, and got the singing started.  
Within moments Bilbo had crept over and was sitting nearby, eyes wide as he hung on every word.  
“Works every time.” He said, grinning at the other Dwarves, then motioned Bilbo over into their circle in front of the fire. Bilbo sat on the floor beside them.  
“We noticed you’d lost your buttons…” Bofur started, and Bilbo laughed self-consciously, smoothing his hand down his green vest.  
“Oh, you know…” He said, “Buttons, pocket handkerchiefs… things you learn to do without on an adventure.”  
Impatient with the gradual proceedings, Dwalin grabbed the Hobbit’s hand, shoved his button into it, and walked away.  
“What’s this?” Bilbo looked at the barrel-shaped piece of polished bone in his hand, turning it over, eyebrows raising as he saw the holes through it.  
“A button?” he asked, surprised. Kili and Dori handed their buttons over too, and so did Bofur. Bilbo looked the buttons over, examining each one.  
“You made these…” He trailed off.  
“Got to keep our Burglar happy.” Bofur smiled at him, “We don’t want you throwing yourself to the Wargs in despair, again…” he teased, and Bilbo smiled back, at all of them, cradling the buttons to his chest.  
Bilbo turned to one of the dogs who was laying nearby, “Excuse me, might it be possible for me to get a needle and thread?” He asked politely, and the dog immediately jumped up and bounded away.  
“I don’t think I’d ever get used to that.” Dori said, shaking his head, and wandered off to make sure his things were packed for their departure in the morning.  
Bilbo began examining his new buttons one by one, and Bofur described the making of each one. Soon the dog had returned with a needle and thick black thread, and Kili joined Thorin, Gandalf, Fili, and Beorn who were discussing travel preparations.  
Bofur lay back on the floor before the fire, playing a quiet tune on his flute, since he already had it out. Bilbo took off his coat and vest, and, after deciding the order he wanted them in, firmly sewed each button on.  
Bilbo put his vest back on, buttoning it up and smiling down at his round middle that was covered again.  
“They don’t quite match, anymore…” Bofur noticed, wondering if that would bother the Hobbit, but Bilbo just smiled bigger.  
“I think I like them better this way.” he confessed, “They suit me… the me I am now, on this adventure.”  
“How so?” Bofur was curious.  
“Well…” Bilbo thought for a moment, trying to get his thoughts sorted, “Back before, my life was like my buttons… plain brass buttons all the way down, same respectable thing day after day… Now I never know what will be coming next…” He looked down at his buttons, touching them one by one, “Wargs, or woods, or stone giants, or…”  
He poked at Dori’s knotted wool button… “hmmm… not sure what that one might be.” Bilbo laughed a little at himself, “Regardless, these were made for me by my friends, and that alone is enough to make them perfect.”  
“I’m glad you like them.” Bofur hadn’t expected such an insightful answer. He raised his flute to his lips to play another tune.  
“But what I’m wondering is…” Bilbo said, “You played that song earlier to make me come over… how did you know I would?”  
“Because you always do.” Bofur grinned, lowering the flute from his mouth, “You never sing, but you’re always right there listening when we’re singing.”  
“That’s true…” Bilbo said, laughing at himself, a little embarrassed.  
“Why don’t you sing?” Bofur asked, quietly, looking up at the Hobbit from where he was laying on the floor.  
“First off, I don’t know the words…” Bilbo admitted, “And I always try to listen and learn, but you don’t sing the same songs over again very often… and… and you’re always singing about treasure and mountains and lost homes… and other things I know nothing about…”  
“What do hobbits sing about?” Bofur asked.  
“Oh, silly things mostly.” Bilbo said, laying down so the two were stretched out beside one another in front of the fire. “Young love, and good harvests, bragging about your ancestors…and a great many of them making fun of people.”  
“Tell you what…” Bofur said, nudging Bilbo’s leg with his foot and raising his flute to his lips again, “You teach me a Hobbit song and I’ll teach you a Dwarf song, fair trade?”


	2. Through the Bars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Mirkwood / Thranduil’s castle. Very Fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/39694097887/through-the-bars

_The day after the battle with the spiders Bilbo and the dwarves made one last despairing effort to find a way out before they died of hunger and thirst. They got up and staggered on in the direction in which eight out of the thirteen of them guessed to be the one in which the path lay; but they never found out if they were right. Such day as there ever was in the forest was fading once more into the blackness of night…”  
J.R.R. Tolkein, The Hobbit, Chapter IX – Barrels Out Of Bond_

They all staggered along as best they could. Bofur and Bifur each had an arm around poor Bombur, who had taken the worst of the spider’s attentions the day before. Dwalin had insisted on taking point, and he alone of all the Dwarves did not grumble of pain and hunger but he was terribly pale under his scars and tattoos. Nori stayed close to the front with Dwalin, occasionally they reached out to steady one another, but did not seem to talk much. Oin and Gloin stumbled along, leaning on one another. Dori and Ori were alternately helping each other and Balin along… and as for Fili and Kili they hadn’t let go of each other since they escaped the spiders – if Fili didn’t have a protective arm around his younger brother’s shoulders, then Kili’s hand was holding onto a handful of his blond older brother’s shirt as though it were a lifeline… he was taking the loss of Thorin harder than anyone else.  
Only Bilbo had no one to walk with. He made his way slowly up and down the ragged line, smiling and encouraging, but Bofur noticed that his eyes were hollow and his face was looking terribly peaked, his lips dry and split from dehydration… he might have been the only one spared spider poison, but he was not doing much better than any of the rest of them. The Hobbit was horribly nervous, starting and disappearing at the slightest unexpected noise… it was a little strange to get used to.  
Finally Balin declared that he could not go another step without rest, and Dwalin called a halt. Everyone sank gratefully to the ground where they stood… except for Bilbo who stayed standing, straining his ears out into the forest, his hand on the handle of his little dagger.  
Bofur levered himself slightly away from Bombur and Bifur, leaning against the trunk of a tree… it was almost comfortable.  
“Bilbo…” he called, quietly. The Hobbit turned toward him, and Bofur gestured him over. When Bilbo was standing beside him, Bofur grabbed his arm and tugged… as he’d suspected would be the case, the Hobbit collapsed to the ground instantly.  
“Bofur!” Bilbo complained, trying weakly to struggle back to his feet, but an arm thrown around his shoulders held him down easily.  
“You need to rest.” Bofur informed him.  
“But I have to…”  
“Rest.” Bofur interrupted. Bilbo slumped after only the most perfunctory of struggles.  
“Who’s going to keep watch?” the Hobbit asked, pleadingly.  
“Look.” Bofur pointed toward Dwalin and Nori, who were sitting near each other, facing opposite directions, their eyes roving slowly back and forth across the forest.  
“and look…” he pointed out Fili and Kili who were sitting back to back, also on watch, and Balin and Dori and Ori, who were also alert.  
“We’ll all raise a shout if anything happens.” He assured Bilbo, “You’ll be sharper for a few minutes of rest.”  
Bilbo sighed and adjusted himself to be as comfortable as possible, and closed his eyes. Bofur kept his arm around the Hobbit’s slender shoulders, not trusting him not to make a break for it.  
Within moments of closing his eyes, Bilbo’s body relaxed, sagging toward Bofur until he was practically laying on the Dwarf’s chest., his breath slowing in sleep. Bofur smiled, gently patting the Hobbit’s back, and Bilbo muttered something unintelligible in his sleep, putting his arm around Bofur’s middle and holding on tight.  
There was a lump in Bofur’s throat, he wasn’t sure how had gotten there, and his lungs felt too tight in his chest… and it wasn’t that Bilbo was squeezing him too tight. He forced himself to breathe normally… but it was not easy. The Hobbit looked so small, just then, and so young in sleep, with his messy curls on his forehead… and how many times had he saved them now? For what? To die in this accursed forest with them… brave little Bilbo of the Shire with his mismatched buttons, who had no stake in this adventure at all… He forced his mind away from that train of thought.  
For the first time he noticed that Bilbo smelled… different. None of them smelled any too good, with no way to bathe since they entered the forest, but Bilbo didn’t have the particular metallic tang a well-ripened Dwarf tended to pick up. Bilbo smelled more like… Bofur leaned down slightly, breathing in deeply… he closed his eyes as his mind suddenly brought him back a memory of walking through sunlit fields, and he nearly laughed. Trust a Hobbit to have an undertone of fresh-mown hay when he got really ripe.  
Dwalin heaved himself to his feet, looking at the Dwarves, and there were quiet sighs as everyone realized he was going to call an end to the break.  
Bofur waved frantically with his free hand, making ‘no’ and ‘sleeping’ signals and pointing at Bilbo, begging for a little more time for him.  
Dwalin’s brow clouded, but Balin shook his head at his younger brother.  
“He has a point.” the white-haired Dwarf said gently, “Bilbo was up a good bit of the night, trying to keep watch all on his own.” Dwalin glowered, but nodded.  
“A few more minutes.” he growled, sitting back down, and Bofur sighed in relief, idly petting Bilbo’s back. The Hobbit smiled in his sleep… and Bofur’s chest was too small for his lungs again.  
It couldn’t last long, of course. Even Balin’s support couldn’t delay Dwalin very long, and when the surly warrior stood again to end their rest, Bofur gently shook Bilbo by the shoulder, the Hobbit muttering ‘no’ and curling in closer to him.  
“We’ve got to keep going.” He urged, pushing Bilbo away as the Hobbit came blearily awake. Bofur stood wearily, and helped pull Bilbo to his feet – only fair since he’d been the one who dragged him down in the first place.  
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Bilbo said, stretching, rubbing his eyes. Bofur helped Bifur to his feet, and they both together got Bombur back up, while the rest of the Dwarves helped each other up too.  
When Dwalin saw they were all ready, as ready as they would be, he turned and led them on through the never-ending forest.  
And Bilbo did look a _little_ better as he resumed his nervous watch, and that made Bofur’s heart a little lighter.  
When darkness fell and they were captured by the Wood Elves, all of them far too tired to fight, Bofur smiled as they were blindfolded and counted out to just twelve. He’d seen, out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo start and vanish just moments before the torches blazed to light around them. The Burglar had gotten away completely undetected.  
The Elves weren’t going to know what hit them.

“ _Then he (Thranduil) ordered the dwarves each to be put in a separate cell and to be given food and drink, but not to be allowed to pass the doors of their little prisons…”  
J.R.R. Tolkein, The Hobbit, Chapter IX – Barrels Out Of Bond_

Bilbo didn’t think he’d ever forget the screaming when they’d separated Fili and Kili. Everyone had seemed far too exhausted to fight, but when the Wood-Elves had started to pull them away from each other it had awoken something primal in the young brothers.  
It had, surprisingly, been Fili who did the screaming, but both of them fought like wild animals. Fili even, somehow, managed to get up high enough to smash the Elvish Captain’s nose with a well-placed headbutt and made it half way across the hall back toward Kili, screaming death to anyone who touched his brother, before the shocked guards tackled him to the floor.  
Kili never made a sound as he was dragged away, but his terrified dark eyes never left his blond brother’s face.  
Dwalin’s bellowing at them to just let it go had gone completely unnoticed.  
It took Bilbo nearly two weeks to find all of the Dwarves, where the elves had scattered them throughout the palace, but he found Fili and Kili earlier than that, they were the Dwarves most talked about after their struggle in the hall, so it was easier for Bilbo to figure out where they were.  
Fili was very pleased that the Elvish Captain who’s nose he’d smashed was impressed with his fighting style… he made Bilbo quote over and over again the conversation she’d had with some of the other guards saying she would not like to be between the two of them if they were armed and healthy.  
Both brothers perked up when Bilbo was able to pass messages between them, but it was all nonsense to him. “Three sparrows and an apple.” Kili would have him deliver, and then Fili would laugh and have him send beck “a penny in a pair of boots”… Bilbo assumed it was some sort of code the brothers had developed, but it did not make him feel less lonely, invisible in the Elf King’s palace, to be passing messages he could not even understand… and he could not pass messages for them all day, as much as they would have liked him to. He had to find all of the Dwarves, and keep out of the way of the guards, and steal food for himself, and try to find places it was safe to sleep for a few hours, and, somehow, find a way to get them all out.  
Bofur was the last one he found, and his heart jumped when he looked into the cell and saw the Dwarf with his distinctive hat, laying back on his little cot, staring despondently at the ceiling.  
“Bofur.” he’d whispered, excitedly, after checking that there were no guards nearby. “Bofur, it’s me!”  
Bofur looked around slightly, but then shook himself, rubbing his forehead… he looked so sad…  
“Bofur!” Bilbo tried again, whispering impatiently, “It’s Bilbo, I’m at the door. Come talk to me!”  
Bofur sat up, staring hard at the door, his lips framed a word, but he made no sound… then suddenly he threw himself across the cell, pressing himself against the door, his face against the bars in the top of the door.  
“Bilbo.” he whispered, hoarsely, his eyes skittering around, looking for what was invisible. “Bilbo is it really you?”  
“Yes.” Bilbo whispered, and Bofur shoved as much of his thick hand through the bars as he could, trying to reach out, and Bilbo took his hand. Bofur’s fingers wove around his, and drew the Hobbit’s smaller hand through the bars, his roughly callused hand just gently holding the Hobbit’s… the Dwarf took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes closed, then looked blindly out into the hallway, his face transformed with a dimpled smile.  
“You’re doing alright?” Bofur asked, “You’re finding enough food? You’re finding places to sleep? You’ve still got all your buttons?”  
“I… I… uh, yes, to all of them.” Bilbo was taken off guard, none of the other Dwarves had asked how _he_ was doing, they’d all just asked about their kin and how soon he would have them out.  
“Good.” Bofur smiled, his eyes crinkling up.  
“I’ve found all the others, already.” Bilbo volunteered, “Everyone’s doing fine… though Bombur says they aren’t feeding him enough… I stole him a pie yesterday… and I can’t really talk to Bifur but he… seems to be ok? They’re treating him the same as everyone.”  
“Oh, that’s a relief.” Bofur said, finally, gently, releasing Bilbo’s hand. “So tell me, Burglar, what have you been up to… it’s terribly boring in here and they keep saying ‘we’ll see’ when I ask for my flute back.”  
Bilbo ended up spending the evening with his back against Bofur’s cell door, with Bofur sitting with his back against the other side, whispering to the Dwarf everything he’d seen and found out since getting into the palace, and giving a warning hiss for quiet whenever anyone came down the hallway… then Bofur whispered to him a short silly story about a child and a cheese that had him biting the back of his own hand to keep in the laughter. He hadn’t laughed since he’d gotten here, and it felt good to finally do so.  
He did not feel so lonely anymore when he left to try to find a place to sleep for a few hours.  
It was simple enough to get Bofur his flute back… it just took a particular set of circumstances that Bilbo kept his eye out for… then when no one was looking he took the flute from where the Dwarves’ possessions were being kept and placed it on the plate that was to go to Bofur for supper.  
The guards knew that Bofur had been asking for his flute back, and assumed that the Captain had decided it was safe.  
It kept the Dwarf’s spirits up to be able to play a little music, just as it kept Fili and Kili happy to pass nonsensical messages, and it kept Bombur happy to have a little extra food now and then… the others were a bit harder to keep happy. They kept pressing him for his escape plan.  
Everyone was pleased when he found Thorin, especially Fili and Kili, though Dwalin had growled at him that now there was no more reason to delay their escape.  
Bilbo spent more time with Bofur than with any of the others… Bofur always made him feel better when he started to despair, whether it was with a tune on his flute, or a funny story… or just assuring Bilbo that he was sure he could think of something, encouraging him to find out as much as he could about the palace.  
Being invisible for so long wore on Bilbo, he felt like he was growing faceless and bodyless, like maybe he would stop existing all together… and Bofur made him feel better about that too – he always reached through the bars to touch Bilbo’s hand when he visited, and just that little contact helped him remember that he _did_ exist. He probably would have despaired long before he figured out an escape plan if it hadn’t been for Bofur.  
When he’d finally managed to steal the keys, Bofur was the first Dwarf he freed. Bofur had groped his way out of his little cell, reaching for him.  
“Bilbo…” He’d whispered, and Bilbo touched his hand. The Dwarf had taken Bilbo’s hand, felt up his arm, blindly placing his hands on the Hobbit’s shoulders, then gently drawn him in for a hug.  
He was… warm… was the first thought that came into Bilbo’s head as his own arms found their way around the solid dwarf, as he found himself burying his face against Bofur’s shoulder… it had been so long – so long alone and invisible. Bofur’s clothes were scratchy and rough, but his arms were gentle, though Bilbo could feel the rock-solid miner’s muscles on them… and he smelled like… well, he smelled like Dwarf… like warm metal and rich earth.  
Finally Bofur took a deep breath and pushed Bilbo gently away, smiling as though he really could see Bilbo, hesitantly moving his hand to the top of Bilbo’s head and ruffling his hair.  
“Let’s get the others, then.” He whispered, and Bilbo took his hand to lead him through the Palace to the next nearest cell, and if their fingers had somehow gotten intertwined… well… who was going to see?


	3. The Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Bilbo having a smoke and a cuddle on the balcony in Lake-town.  
> Very Fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/39955193605/the-balcony

_They were all doctored and fed and housed and pampered in the most delightful and satisfactory fashion. A large house was given up for Thorin and his company; boats and rowers were put at their service; and crowds sat outside and sang songs all day, or cheered if any dwarf showed so much as his nose.  
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter X - A Warm Welcome_

Bofur and Bilbo were sharing a quiet smoke on the large balcony of the house Lake-town had offered the Company… they were laying down and being quiet so the excited crowds wouldn’t notice them and start singing songs about gold again. The only thing that might have given away their presence was the occasional smoke ring that wafted gently away from their corner.  
Bofur tried again to blow a smoke ring, but once again got nothing of the sort. Bilbo, snuggled tight against his side, rocked with suppressed laughter, his eyes sparkling.  
“Like this…” He whispered, demonstrating once again, with a quick puff sending a perfect ring floating away. Bofur just smiled, pulling on his pipe. Lake-town’s Best was fine leaf, or so he thought. Bilbo had sighed something about Old Toby, but fought back vigorously when Bofur had jokingly tried to steal his pipe to protect him from sup-par pipeweed.  
“Maybe I’m just not meant to have the skill.” Bofur shrugged, and Bilbo lay his head on the Dwarf’s chest, looking up at the clear autumn sky.  
“You just have to practice.” Bilbo whispered, blowing another ring, “Took me _years_ to get it right…”  
Bofur squeezed the Hobbit affectionately, thinking about what it might be like to have a life where you had years to perfect a leisure skill like smoke rings… the kind of life he could have once they took back Erebor… but he said nothing about that. Bilbo looked horribly nervous whenever the Mountain was brought up, and in fact would not even use the more comfortable and private balcony on the other side of the house because it overlooked the Mountain.  
Oh, Bilbo. Bofur smiled down at the curly top of the Hobbit’s head. It had taken him days to get used to being visible, to get out of the habit of watching where everyone around him was and skipping out of the way. He was looking very smart in his new blue jacket, and it made Bofur absurdly pleased that, the day after it had been gifted to him, the Hobbit had replaced the shiny new buttons with the mismatched buttons the Company had made, starting from the top with Bofur’s own wooden button, and ending with his one remaining original brass button – now tarnished.  
No one in the Company had said anything about Bofur and Bilbo, and how they were never far away from one another, and almost always in physical contact…. but then no one said anything either about Fili and Kili, who when they weren’t swaggering through town with Thorin like Erebor was already won and Smaug chopped into bits, were holding on to one another like the world would end. Not even Bofur and Bilbo themselves had said anything, it had just… happened. When the time came to choose their rooms in their temporary house, they had simply moved their things into the same room… when they ate, they sat side-by-side, and usually one or the other’s arm would find it’s way around the other… when they slept they cuddled up together, though the bed was by no means small, and the weather was not _so_ cold… and when they went for a smoke, well, here they were, snuggled up together in the autumn sunlight.  
Bofur was certain he had never been so happy in his whole life, and if he had to return to the West empty-handed but with Bilbo at his side, he would count himself far richer for the trip… not that he didn’t want his share of the treasure in Erebor! Oh, Erebor! The gold shone behind his eyes as he thought of it.  
“What are you thinking about?” Bilbo asked, knocking the ash out of his pipe, which he had finished, and settling back against Bofur.  
“Oh, not much… the future…” Bofur answered vaguely, so as not to upset the Hobbit with talk of the Mountain or Smaug. He no longer thought it would be so funny to make Bilbo faint… and he almost regretted a little having done it the first time they met, but he’d never actually _met_ anyone before who could faint from the power of imagination alone… though, come to think of it, with all he’d gone through, Bilbo was very likely strong-stomached enough now that he wouldn’t do it anymore either.  
“Me too.” Bilbo smiled up at him, all dimples and shining eyes, and it was clear the future he’d been thinking of had nothing to do with Smaug.  
Bilbo began idly repacking his pipe, “I’ve been wondering… how old are you, Bofur?”  
“Forty…” Bofur thought back, made sure he had the year right, “Seven? A hundred and forty seven, this past spring… and how old are you, Burglar?”  
“Fifty one.” Bilbo answered, and Bofur didn’t quite manage to suppress his recoil of surprise. He _knew_ that Hobbits did not live as long as Dwarves, but it didn’t change the fact that fifty years old sounded like a child to him.  
“It’s not like that!” Bilbo protested quietly, “I’m middle-aged, for a Hobbit!”  
“I know, I know.” Bofur soothed, “I just think of you as my own age, is all, and I was surprised.”  
“But I’m not your age.” Bilbo sat up from the Dwarf to look Bofur more easily in the eye, “I’m both younger and older than you…” He began nervously straightening Bofur’s jacket, his nimble hands smoothing every crease, and his eyes were sad as he continued.  
“You’ll live another hundred years… and I’ve only got another fifty, sixty if I’m lucky…” He looked Bofur back in the eye, hands resting on the Dwarf’s broad chest. “I could spend the rest of my life with you, but I can’t give you the same thing.”  
Bofur wasn’t sure his lungs were ever going to be ok, it felt like an iron hand had clenched around them. He had hoped… oh, he had _hoped_ … but to finally _know_ that Bilbo felt…  
Bilbo suddenly blushed bright pink, letting go of Bofur’s jacked, “Um… that is… if you wanted…” He turned quickly away, trying to light his pipe with shaking hands, “…please forget I said anything…” he mumbled around his pipe stem, which he puffed on vigorously but ineffectively.  
Bofur wrapped his arms around the Hobbit and pulled him down beside him again, holding him as tight as he dared, needing him close but not wanting to bruise him, burying his face in the soft curls that always smelled like fresh-mown hay, now that he knew to look for it.  
“I would rather spend fifty years with you than a hundred and fifty with anyone else.” he growled through the lump in his throat. He felt the tension leave the Hobbit’s body all at once as Bilbo turned, burying his own face against the Dwarf’s neck, his arms going around him to hold him tight in return.  
They lay together, in the sun, their pipes completely forgotten for the moment and words once again unnecessary, Bofur gently stroking the back and hair of his wonderfully soft and cuddly armful of a Hobbit… soft, but never weak. He could just picture it, the two of them living like Princes with their share of the treasure… one home in Erebor, and a second in the Shire. Bilbo would take care of him, and make sure he was always clean and fed and that their house was immaculate, and he would take care of Bilbo and write songs for him and make sure that the Hobbit had fun, and laughed, and did not let the little things get to him.  
They heard the cheering and singing as Thorin and his heirs returned to the house, passing just under the balcony to enter the house.  
“…few days to gather the necessary supplies.” Thorin’s unmistakeable deep voice was saying, “And then we will strike out for the mountain. We must be there before Durin’s day!”  
The change in Bilbo’s body was instant, Bofur’s cuddly armful had gone as stiff as a board. Bilbo gently extricated himself from Bofur’s embrace and turned away, gathering up and lighting his pipe, he was leaning against the Dwarf but it suddenly felt as though there was a chasm miles wide between them.  
“Erebor is beautiful.” Bofur tried, reaching up to massage the Hobbit’s tense shoulders, “I was just a lad, but I can remember the great halls, and the gold, and the kitchens – ovens you could roast an ox in… the neverending clanging of the great forges that never slept… and the quiet ting-ting-ting of a thousand hammers echoing up through the mines, like rain… I cannot wait for you to see it…”  
“I am sure it is, and was, very beautiful.” Bilbo said, trying to smile at Bofur and failing, his eyes haunted as he turned away again, “…It’s the Dragon that worries me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed Tolkeinites may have noticed that I decided to erase the terrible cold Bilbo had at this point in the book. I like a comfort-the-sick-hobbit fic as much as the next person, but it wasn’t really the feel I was going for.


	4. On the Gold (the inevitable smutty chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex. On a pile of gold. In a mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40129868271/on-the-gold

_Now the days passed slowly and wearily. Many of the dwarves spent their time piling and ordering the treasure; and now Thorin spoke of the Arkenstone of Thrain, and bade them eagerly to look for it in every corner.”  
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter XVI – A Thief In The Night_

Bilbo and Bofur were poking wearily through the treasure… Bilbo in particular felt the weight of all the cold stone above him in the darkness, and all Bofur’s talk of how beautiful Erebor would be when it was cleaned and lit and full of Dwarves was little comfort to him.  
Sitting besieged in the Mountain, with nothing but dry old _cram_ to eat, made him miss his comfortable Hobbit hole, and the sunny Shire, more than he ever thought possible.  
The pair were in a far-flung offshoot of the treasure pile, where some of it had overflowed into a separate room entirely. Bilbo helped look for the Arkenstone, but his heart was sick in his chest. He knew where it was… hidden in the bundle of rags he used as a pillow…  
Finally he sat down on the pile of cold coins, sighing heavily, his face in his hands.  
In moments Bofur was there, wrapping his warm arms around the Hobbit and kissing the top of his head.  
“I just want to go home.” he whispered against Bofur’s sturdy chest, “I’m _tired_ of the dark and I… I don’t _want_ to be part of a war about all this _stupid_ gold…” and he realized he was whining, and tears were starting to come out of his eyes… but he just couldn’t stop himself.  
“Shhh…shh…” Bofur soothed, cradling Bilbo and rocking him back and forth, “Thorin won’t expect you to be on the front lines if it comes to fighting, you know…” He soothed, “And we’re safe in here until Dain’s men arrive from the Iron Hills to break the siege.”  
“But _why_ does it have to come to fighting over gold?” Bilbo asked, and Bofur laughed mirthlessly.  
“Because it’s _gold_ , Bilbo.” he said, quietly, and in his voice the Hobbit could hear the desire that even down-to-earth Bofur had for the metal.  
“I can’t say I care for the stuff.” Bilbo admitted, and Bofur laughed a little more sincerely this time.  
“I’m sure you don’t, my lad, but I’m sure you wouldn’t scoff at the fine things you could buy with it… fine foods and pretty waistcoats with shiny buttons…” he teased, but when that didn’t perk Bilbo up, he changed tactics, running his fingers through the Hobbit’s hair until Bilbo just knew his curls would be standing out all over his head in disarray.  
“No more searching, for now.” Bofur decided, “I don’t think Thorin’s shiny is in here, anyway.” he leaned back, admiring Bilbo’s unkempt hair standing all over his head, and then leaned in for a soft whiskery kiss.  
Bilbo melted, completely unable to resist being drawn in, all his cares seeming to float away. He would have laughed had he told himself, prior to the trip, that he would ever find anyone to love this way… no, he had settled into the life of a confirmed bachelor, sure that he would never find the ‘right girl’ for him… if only he had known that he was waiting, not for a girl, but for a hairy Dwarf miner who laughed too loud at crude jokes and always knew the right way to cheer him up…  
They were kissing harder now, Bilbo could feel the Dwarf’s long mustache tickling his chin, Bofur’s breath coming faster now as Bilbo nipped playfully at his bottom lip, eliciting a low moan… before Bofur took a deep breath, pushing Bilbo away and smiling at him as though he were the most precious object in all of Erebor.  
Bilbo would be happy to bask in that smile, with Bofur’s eyes all wrinkled up with joy and somehow _more_ beautiful for his big nose and crooked teeth… except that this is what happened every time… Bilbo would be ready for more, and Bofur would pull back.  
Having had quite enough of that, Bilbo wiggled out of Bofur’s grip toward him, taking the bigger Dwarf by surprise, pushing him back so he way lying on the gold coins with the Hobbit sitting straddled on his chest… his hat had come off, and Bilbo picked it up and threw it, ignoring Bofur’s laughing protests.  
“Mr. Bofur.” Bilbo said, seriously, undoing Bofur’s braids, running his hands through the coarse hair, “How long does Dwarven courtship generally last?”  
“Oh, only about a decade… sometimes two… _very_ rarely as much as three, though I’ve heard of it…” Bofur seemed surprised by the question.  
“Hobbits do things much quicker.” Bilbo said, “Probably because we don’t live nearly as long… a lover who made their intended wait a decade would be considered unbearably cruel.” He had undone all of Bofur’s braids, spread the Dwarf’s hair out in a dark halo around his head on the gold.  
“Well…”Bofur considered, “If you’re only going to love once, you’d best make sure you’re choosing the right one…”  
Bilbo kissed Bofur on the forehead, then the tip of his nose, and then gently on the mouth. “So you’re still not sure about me…” He asked, quietly.  
Bofur caught him as he was sitting back up, pulled him back down for another kiss, “I’ve never been more sure of _anything_ in my life.” He whispered, between burning kisses.  
“Good.” Bilbo smiled down at his Dwarf, rubbing noses with him briefly before sitting back up and beginning to unbutton Bofur’s shirt… but Bofur placed his big callused hands over Bilbo’s, stilling them.  
“Are you sure?” Bofur asked, voice breathless, pupils wide. “There’s no need to rush this, we have all the time in the world…”  
“Do we?” Bilbo asked. “Do we really? I don’t know about you, but I’m in a besieged Mountain with a war about to start… and I don’t like the chances of all of us surviving… and if you, or I…” Bilbo broke off, not really able to voice his fear, “I just don’t want to miss the chance… if I might not have another…”  
“Do it because you want to, not because you’re scared.” Bofur said, and Bilbo gathered up big handfuls of hair on either side of the Dwarf’s head.  
“Don’t be an idiot, of course I _want_ to.” and he headbutted him as hard as he dared, smacking their foreheads together with a resounding crack. It was a very _Dwarf_ thing to do, something he’d seen them do with one another, always in affection, and… it just seemed right to use a Dwarf way of communicating to get through to a Dwarf.  
Bilbo reeled back, seeing stars… he’d hit harder than he’d expected to, he put his hand to his forehead.  
“…ouch.” he whispered, and Bofur was laughing, pulling him down to kiss his forehead.  
“Don’t smack heads with a Dwarf, we’ve got stone for skulls.” Bofur rubbed his rough cheeks against Bilbo’s smooth ones, still chuckling… and then they were kissing again, and Bofur didn’t stop him when he started to unbutton his shirt.  
They had seen one another naked before, of course, bathing in streams and such, but never like _this_ , never together, and looking, and touching…  
Bilbo found himself petting the soft hair that lay across Bofur’s broad chest, enjoying the heat of his skin, and the hard muscles beneath it, finding little scars here and there with his sensitive fingertips, listening to Bofur’s breath hitch when he leaned down to kiss the little hollow under his collarbone…  
And Bofur had removed Bilbo’s shirt too… his tough hands gentle as they ran over the Hobbit’s body, gripping him, holding him close – Bilbo might have been self-conscious about his own soft physique in front of his muscular partner, had Bofur’s eyes and hands and hoarse whispers not all told him over and over again how beautiful the Dwarf found him.  
When he could not wait any longer, he rolled off the side of Bofur, lay snugged to his warm side in the uncomfortable pile of gold, loving the way Bofur’s breath began to come in short gasps as he trailed his hand down the Dwarf’s abdomen, his fingers hesitating at the top edge of Bofur’s pants, before sneaking it under to touch what he had never touched on another male before.  
Bofur’s deep groan as Bilbo took his erection in hand was enough reward to stay… Bofur was big, surprising Bilbo with it’s girth… but he gamely wrapped his hand around it and stroked it with the same slow easy stroke he would use on himself for a good leisurely pleasuring, running the ball of his thumb around the crown every few strokes. He lay his head on Bofur’s chest, listening to the pounding of his heart, his gasping breaths, his little moans… his own aching need he suppressed for the moment, though the twitching of Bofur’s body pressed against him was sweet torture.  
He might have let it go only that far… to the use of hands, but, if this really might be their only chance… didn’t Bofur deserve the best he could give him?  
Bilbo, with his unoccupied hand, tugged Bofur’s pants down, until his thick arching erection was free, then… a little hesitantly, it’s true… began to kiss down the middle of Bofur’s chest and belly, leading inevitably down…  
Bofur let out a panting whimper as he realized what was about to happen, his hips bucking a bit on their own.  
“I’ve… never done this… before…” Bilbo confessed, between kisses, “Let me know… what you like…” He could feel himself blushing, but Bofur just gripped him harder.  
“Just… mind your teeth…” Bofur groaned, and Bilbo laughed a little. He knew _that_ much.  
And now he’d reached the end of the line of soft hair… and there was no where to go but onward. He looked up at Bofur, his lover sprawled across the gold in the flickering torchlight, his hair loose and wild, his eyes closed, chest heaving… and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Bofur.  
The first swipe of his tongue across the crown of the Dwarf’s erection was tentative, picking up the lightly salty flavor and slick-sticky texture of his pre-cum… then swirling around, eliciting a gasp from Bofur, before he wrapped his lips gently around the thick erection and pressed it as deeply into his mouth as he could.  
He gagged, of course… but just a little… and he pulled back, coming down a little less far on his next stroke, it was easier, now, with Bofur’s erection slick with his saliva… he kept his hand on the bottom half, stroking in counter-tempo, since he couldn’t reach it with his mouth… would he be able to with practice? Would he ever have the chance to find out?  
“… so good… so perfect…” Bofur was gasping, his hands running through the Hobbit’s hair, catching in the tangled curls as his body shuddered. “I’m… I’m!”  
Bilbo increased the tempo as he realized Bofur was on the edge, determined to finish him off with his mouth and hand, determined to catch every last drop of his seed…  
until the first splash of it hit the back of his throat, gagging him with the sudden thick clinging bitterness in his mouth… he drew back, swallowing hard, trying not to choke, as Bofur spent in thick ropes across his stomach, moaning deeply as his body bucked.  
“I’m sorry.” Bilbo whispered, clinging to Bofur as the Dwarf’s orgasm faded.  
“No.” Bofur said, pulling Bilbo in for a kiss, “No apologies… you’re far, _far,_ better than a rookie has any right to be…”  
“mmm… we should clean you up?..” Bilbo suggested, as Bofur began to press him back, taking the upper position.  
“Later.” Bofur growled, hitching up his pants, but doing nothing about the seed across his belly, he roughly divested Bilbo of his pants entirely, leaving him naked on the cold gold, then leaning back, his eyes traveling up and down the Hobbit’s body hungrily.  
“Look at you.” He whispered, running a rough hand down Bilbo’s body, making him shiver, “How are you so beautiful?” he asked, his hand cupping Bilbo’s straining erection, and Bilbo could only moan as the Dwarf began to stroke him with a hand that seemed suddenly to be the size of the whole world… and they were kissing, Bofur’s trailing mustache on his cheeks, his dark hair a curtain around their faces, as the Dwarf’s tongue probed insistently into his mouth… and the hand was using a strange 1.2… 3… 1.2… 3… that Bilbo had never felt before…. and he was moaning, thrusting up into that wonderful wonderful hand, and Bofur was laughing softly.  
“Easy, now..” He whispered, slowing, “Patience…”  
“…please…” Bilbo was gasping, “…please…”  
“Aye, please you I will…” Bofur said… and now it was the Dwarf who was moving down his lover’s body with kisses… and Bilbo thought he would finish right there when the slick heat of Bofur’s tongue wrapped around his erection… but the Dwarf kept him just on the edge, engulfing him in the intoxicating heat of his mouth, but holding him off from his climax, moving so, so slowly… and Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what he was babbling but it sounded blasphemous and Bofur was laughing, laughing without for an instant letting his mouth off of Bilbo’s erection.  
and when he finally finished, it was like the world collapsed into one tiny point on the tip of his crown where the Dwarf’s tongue was circling, circling, circling.  
and then there was nothing more.  
It took him a while to make sense of the world again… there were walls… and torches… and cold gold coins under him… and a warm, rock-solid Dwarf cradling him in his arms… and he buried his face in Bofur’s loose rough hair and breathed in the scent of warm metal and rich earth, and held on to him as hard as he could.  
And he was happy.  
“There, now…” Bofur said, gently, “Do you feel braver? Nothing to regret?”  
And Bilbo nodded… but his heart fell…  
It had come to him, all in a flash, what he was going to have to do to prevent a war… what he was going to have to do to keep Bofur safe…  
…and it might very well get him killed.


	5. The Stone and the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Bofur just want to keep one another safe, but can they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40204526216/the-stone-and-the-battle

“ _Is there nothing for which you would yield any of your gold?”_  
“ _Nothing that you or your friends have to offer.”_  
“ _What of the Arkenstone of Thrain?” said he, and at the same moment the old man opened the casket and held aloft the jewel. The light leapt from his hand, bright and white in the morning.  
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter XVII – The Clouds Break_

Bofur knew, the moment he saw the Arkenstone, what had happened. He could see it in Bilbo’s face; tiny, beautiful Bilbo, the only one brave enough to stand up to Thorin’s madness.  
Thorin was going to kill him.. and Bilbo was just standing there beside the King… waiting for it to happen.  
It was instinctive, there was no thought involved. He had to protect Bilbo, he had to get him away from Thorin and the edge of the cliff…  
but he was not the only one who’d realized. Before he completed even one step, Balin had grabbed him, pulling him back.  
“That was my father’s and is mine! How came you by it?” Thorin was roaring, and Bofur had finally managed to wrestle free of Balin’s grip as Bilbo answered, his eyes wide with terror but his voice firm.  
“I gave it to them, let it stand for my fourteenth of the treasure, though you may want to exchange it for another portion.”  
Bofur lunged forward again, frantic, but now Dwalin had also realized what was happening, and the hulking warrior joining his elder brother in restraining him as Thorin picked the Hobbit up, shaking him, holding him over the edge of the cliff, screaming that he was betrayed, threatening to fling him down.  
“You’ll only make it worse, lad.” Balin was murmuring, but Bofur was fighting as if for his own life… neither of his captors escaped bruising… Bilbo’s eyes were closed, his face peaceful, composed… waiting… unafraid…

He’d been afraid the night before… climbing into their shared bedroll at midnight after his watch was over, chilled to the bone and shaking,  
“I don’t want there to be any killing over the gold.” He’d whispered over and over again as Bofur worked to warm him up, rubbing his hands and his big hobbit feet until the blood returned to them. “I just want you to be safe.”   
And Bofur had done his best to comfort him, to remind him that Dain Ironfoot was on his way, and that they were already starting to work on clearing a second entrance on the other side of the Mountain, and that already messages were flying with the Ravens to all of the scattered people of Durin that the Mountain was reclaimed… that soon there would be far more Dwarves, and they would easily overpower the army of Men and Elves camped in the wasteland… reminding the Hobbit that time was on the side of the Dwarves.  
And Bilbo had curled up against his chest, and Bofur had held him until they were both nearly asleep…  
“Thorin is going to kill me.” Bilbo had whispered, and Bofur had chuckled at him,  
“No, lad.” He’d murmured, sleepily, “After all you’ve done for us, for him, there’s nothing you could do that would make him dislike you.”  
Bilbo hadn’t said anything more, and Bofur had fallen asleep holding his beloved Hobbit… and only now did he realize how wrong he’d been.

Bofur was still lunging against the grips of Balin and Dwalin, desperate to get to Bilbo. The eyes of all the Dwarves were on Thorin, holding Bilbo over the edge of the cliff. Kili was biting his hand, eyes flashing back and forth from Thorin and Bilbo to his elder brother Fili, clearly waiting for a signal, any signal, but his brother stood stock-still, brow furrowed with worry, but making no move.  
It was Gandalf who saved Bilbo – making Thorin put him down safely on the edge of the cliff while they argued about the price of the Arkenstone.  
Bilbo sat where he had been thrown, taking deep shaking breaths… finally his eyes traveled back to Bofur, who was still struggling to get to him.  
Their eyes locked, and Bilbo shook his head briefly, before turning back to look at Thorin, the one who still held his life in his hands.  
Bofur slumped, Balin and Dwalin’s hands now the only thing keeping him on his feet… that simple head shake had been like a slap.  
“Don’t try to help.”  
Why did he have to be so brave?

Bofur would never forget the terror of sending Bilbo down into Smaug’s lair, not once, but twice… knowing the dragon was in it… would never forget the horrible sound of the dragon laughing… would never forget how Bilbo looked when he came staggering out the second time, coughing from dragon smoke, with the back of his hair singed from the flames…  
He’d looked up at Bofur with the whites visible all around his eyes, hyperventilating and half-laughing in panic.  
“Never laugh at live dragons.” He’d gasped out, shaking from the adrenaline. “Don’t… don’t do it!”  
and fainted.  
It had been Bilbo who persuaded them all to come into the mountain to be safe from Smaug’s attack… and Bilbo who lead them through Erebor and out the other side when their door was blocked behind them… even though he was the most scared, and still had scorched skin on his heels.  
Why did he have to be so brave?

Thorin bitterly agreed to exchange one fourteenth of the silver and gold of Erebor for the Arkenstone… and ordered Bilbo to leave, leave or be thrown down.  
Someone had a rope, and they made to lower Bilbo down. Before he stepped over the edge, Bilbo turned back to the Company.  
“May we meet again, as friends.” He said, quietly… but his eyes were on Bofur, still restrained by Balin and Dwalin… and he left before Thorin could make any more threats on his life.  
When Bilbo was safe on the ground, and had left with the Elves and Men, and Gandalf, Balin and Dwalin finally let Bofur go. They stood stiffly as Thorin strode past them into the Mountain, muttering something under his breath about how the tide would change when Dain arrived… and Bofur knew that all Bilbo’s planning had been for nothing. Thorin would not give up a single piece of gold if he thought he could get the Arkenstone any other way.  
When Thorin was out of earshot, Bofur turned and punched Balin as hard as he could. He would never have landed the hit without the advantage of surprise, and even so the old warrior rolled with it, so most of the force was dissipated… and within moments Dwalin had Bofur restrained again.  
“You would have let him kill Bilbo.” Bofur growled, “Where is your honor, now, or has it all turned to madness like Thorin?”  
Balin patted him on the cheek, condescendingly, “You’d only have made him more angry, laddie, and put your own life in grave danger.”  
“I wasn’t going to let it happen.” Fili said, grimly, the young blond dwarf smoothing his braids… but there was a light sheen of fear-sweat on his brow, “I would have tackled him back in time, if he actually tried to throw him.” He leaned against the wall wearily, “His own Heir he might have forgiven… but not you, I think.”  
“And I right behind him.” Kili said. “We wouldn’t have let him get hurt.”  
Bofur relaxed, and Dwalin hesitantly let him go, and they all trooped back into the mountain… Bofur looked over the treasure of Erebor, and for the first time he saw a pile of dingy, cold, lifeless metal… and he understood what Bilbo had been saying about it all along.

Bofur tried to keep useful, but the world felt as though it had turned to ashes. Since he had a good deal of skill in it, being a miner, professionally, he worked at clearing a second entrance to the Mountain, but it was slow work, and his heart was not in it.  
The preparations for war continued unabated, messages flying back and forth with the ravens from Thorin and Dain… and no effort at all was made to separate out a portion of the treasure to ransom the Arkenstone.  
All of Bilbo’s daring had gone for nothing… there were still going to be a great many lives lost over the gold of Erebor…  
Bofur’s spirits were so low they could hardly fall further when the sudden news came that they were about to be overrun with Goblins, that their enemies of a moment before were now their allies.

_So began a battle that none had expected; and it was called the Battle of Five Armies, and it was very terrible. Upon one side were the Goblins and the Wild Wolves, and upon the other were the Elves and Men and Dwarves.  
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter XVII – The Clouds Break_

Bilbo remembered the battle like a nightmare… he’d put on his ring almost immediately, which helped prevent anyone from aiming at him, but made it so he had to keep an eye out for both friend and enemy…  
He had never expected to see so many Goblins – they overran everything in great screaming hordes, and looking at their numbers, Bilbo was sure that no one was going to survive… not even an invisible Hobbit, and Gandalf looked grim too.  
Bilbo’s heart broke when Thorin led his twelve Dwarves out of the Mountain to enter the battle, when it seemed that everything was lost.  
They were all dressed in gleaming armor from the halls of Erebor, but he could still tell which one was Bofur… he was wielding a mining mattock rather than sword or axe.  
Thorin rallied the Men and Dwarves… but it still was not enough… they were forced into a circle, surrounded on all sides by the Goblins, and Bilbo strained to keep his eye on the one Dwarf he cared more for than any other… wishing he could turn away, praying that he would not have to watch Bofur fall, and knowing he would…  
There was a flash against the sunset, and Bilbo looked toward it… and saw, soaring in above the storm…  
“The Eagles!” He screamed, “The Eagles are coming!” and he heard others taking up the cry, saw it ripple down, heartening the defenders as the word traveled across the blood-strewn valley toward the one Dwarf he suddenly had hope might live….  
And a rock flying through the air hit him on the head.  
And there was darkness.

*

When the… when… when _everything_ was over… they couldn’t find Bilbo. Bofur would have preferred nothing more than to comb every inch of the battlefield searching for him, but Dain Ironfoot had him working, opening the Mountain… others were set the task of searching for the Hobbit as they searched for other survivors.  
Bofur worked numbly… his mind playing over every treasured memory of Bilbo, of the Company of Thorin that had come East with such high hopes, and met with such disaster… He walked in a fog of grief that nothing could lift… so that he did not hear it the first time they told him.  
Dain was shaking him roughly by the shoulder, “Did you not hear me? They have found your Halfling… Go!”  
Bofur blinked the fog from his eyes, heart catching in his chest… and he ran.  
Bilbo was under a tree, wrapped in a blanket, crying in the dry hacking sobs of someone who has no tears left but cannot stop.  
Bofur picked him up, held him on his lap, and Bilbo curled into his chest, and clung to him… and they wept together for all they had lost.  
When they were done, Bilbo looked up at him with eyes swollen and red.  
“Can I go home now?” he asked, miserably.  
“Yes.” Bofur said.

Thorin had the Arkenstone, his own to keep now, and the deal he had made was honored, with one fourteenth of the silver and gold going to the Men of Lake-Town and the Elves of Mirkwood, with Bilbo taking just a small chest of silver and gold, and a pony to carry it, and he left with Gandalf.  
“I have to stay.” Bofur said, kissing his beloved Hobbit, “Dain needs me to rebuild, I cannot leave, with so much undone and winter approaching…”  
“I know.” Bilbo said, his hands nervously smoothing Bofur’s jacket, his mustache, his hair.  
Bofur boosted him up onto his pony, “I’ll come to you, as soon as I can.” He promised.  
“I know.” Bilbo said again, “and if you take too long… I’ll come to you.”  
and he leaned down for one last kiss.  
and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed Tolkienites may notice that I put Bilbo on watch, instead of having him trick Bombur into giving up his watch… sneaking away is harder to do if you’re expected in someone else’s bedroll!  
> Many thanks to LaughingKnife for letting me know the proper name for Bofur’s weapon.


	6. Bag End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After... set between the end of The Hobbit and the first chapter of LOTR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40305348176/bag-end

“ _He is often away from home. And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: dwarves coming at night, and that old wandering conjuror, Glandalf, and all. You can say what you like, Gaffer, but Bag End’s a queer place, and its folk queerer.”  
Said of Bilbo. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 1 – A Long-Expected Party_

It was a lovely quiet morning on the Hill, Gammers crocheting out in the sun on their doorsteps and keeping an eye on their grandbabies while their menfolk smoked and pondered what to have for second breakfast.  
The idyl was burst by a loud shout from the bottom of the hill.  
“Bilbo!” a Dwarf of all things, was _running_ up the path, scattering chickens, his eyes on the top of the hill toward Bag End. A huge floppy hat on his head bounced with every step.  
“Bofur?” Came a shout from the top of the hill, as the once-but-no-longer-respectable Mr. Baggins dropped his pipe and began running down the hill. “Bofur!”  
They met in the middle, crashing into one another in a huge hug, laughing like school-children as the Dwarf picked Mr. Baggins up and spun him around… then, much to the consternation of the shocked Hobbits watching, they grabbed one another by the back of the head and smacked their foreheads together with a sharp crack. As Mr. Baggins was still reeling, the Dwarf picked him up, slinging Bilbo over his shoulder even though the Hobbit was not _so_ much smaller than the Dwarf, and continued running up the hill despite the laughing protests of Mr. Baggins.  
They crashed into the door of Bag End, falling through it, still laughing as they kicked it closed with a resounding bang.  
Silence fell over the hill as Gammers with raised eyebrows picked their crocheting back up.  
“Well, I never…” seemed to be the consensus.

“Bofur… mmm… I thought I was going to have to come get you…” Bilbo’s voice was thick, oddly muffled.  
“Oh, my Hobbit… the things I am about to do to you…” The Dwarf’s voice was raw, hungry… and Bilbo answered with the most wanton moan poor young Hamfast the gardener, who would someday be known as Gaffer Gamgee, had ever heard.  
He turned bright red to the tips of his ears, dropping his pruning sheers, looking at anything but the open window beside him… and decided that the potato patch on the other side of Mr. Bilbo’s property was what really needed his attention today.  
They were fifty three and a hundred and forty nine years old. They had not seen one another in two years.

Bofur was humming as he walked… his steps quickening as he crossed into Hobbiton. It was a fine spring afternoon, still early, and the Dwarf smiled and nodded to any Hobbits he saw about… though few of them acknowledged him back.  
He had a very fine, very long mustache, gone slightly gray now, and a long braid on his chin, though his cheeks he still kept bare. His hair he still kept in it’s customary three braids, and he was dressed in light armor of leather and mail, so that he creaked and rattled as he tromped along in his heavy boots, a heavy pack on his back, his favorite mining mattock in his hand, and the mud and dust of the long road on him.  
All in all, he looked like a very proper and respectable Dwarf… and very much as though he did not belong in the gentle Shire. Once Bilbo had cleaned him, and dressed him in his Shire-clothes, and hidden his boots so he had to go barefoot… then the neighbors would be more friendly.  
They always were. Everyone liked funny Bofur the toyseller… just not when he was looking so very _Dwarf_.  
Bofur smiled, catching a glimpse of Bag End at the top of the hill, at the little curl of smoke coming out of it’s chimney.  
Home.  
He resisted the urge to run up the hill, the way he’d used to… it tended to scare the neighbors. It had only been a few months since he’d seen his Hobbit, but it always felt like a lifetime. Bofur occupied himself with thoughts of what he would do with Bilbo once he got to the top of the hill… and none of his plans took less than a few hours.  
And now, finally, he was standing before the round, green door. He kicked the worst of the mud off his boots, set his mining mattock by the door, then rang the doorbell, grinning like an imp.  
He didn’t have to ring… usually he just let himself in… but it was always best to keep one’s Hobbit guessing…  
“Just a moment!” He heard Bilbo’s voice through the door… and it was possibly the longest moment of his life…. until finally the Hobbit opened the door.  
Bilbo’s eyes widened, his face opening in the hugest smile, “Bofur!” he cried.  
Bofur stepped through the doorway, kicking it closed behind him as he took Bilbo in his arms, bending him over backward to kiss him very thoroughly. Bilbo made an adorable little squeak, his arms wrapping around the Dwarf, one leg raised to wrap around his waist, his soft lips answering Bofur’s passion with his own.  
Bofur decided that the best plan he’d come up with was the one where they didn’t even make it out of the entry hall for another few hours. Yes. The carpet was looking _very_ inviting. Without coming up for air, he began to unbutton the Hobbit’s waistcoat… but Bilbo’s hand stopped him, patting his hand, pulling away slightly from the kiss.  
Curious, Bofur righted them, releasing Bilbo, who was a little out of breath and a bit pink around the ears, buttoning his waistcoat back up.  
“Ah… Bofur… May I introduce you to my nephew, Frodo?” Bofur looked where Bilbo gestured, to see a the tiniest little fairy-imp of a child, with a mop of curly dark hair and the biggest blue eyes, staring at him solemnly from a doorway.  
“Frodo, say hello to Mr. Bofur.” Bilbo was saying, “He’s a Dwarf, and a very good friend of mine.”  
“Hi!” Frodo said, sticking his thumb into his mouth and creeping slightly backward until only his head was visible through the doorway, still staring. Bofur put his heavy pack down by the door, sharing an embarrassed look with Bilbo.  
“I was just getting us an afternoon snack.” Bilbo said, “Have you eaten?”  
“No… I haven’t stopped since first light this morning… I just wanted to get home.” Bofur confessed. The Hobbit child was creeping ever so slowly further back. Bofur opened his pack to fish out something… what might appeal to a child that age?  
Bilbo sighed, “So that means you missed your breakfast too, I take it… I’ll get us a second lunch, then.” He peered into Bofur’s pack, “The one on the left, I think.” He suggested, patting Bofur affectionately on the shoulder and leaving to go raid his pantry.  
Bofur picked up the suggested toy, and without looking directly at the half-hiding Frodo, sat down on the carpet and began playing with it.  
It was a clever toy, a little pony and wagon, brightly colored, built with hidden clockworks inside so the turning of the wheels made the horse prance. He ran it in slow circles in front of him… and, in a shorter amount of time than he would have predicted, there was a small Hobbitling kneeling on the carpet beside him, staring very intently at the toy. Bofur ran it close to Frodo, and his hand slipped off it… so that it was sitting just in front of the child. Frodo reached out, tentatively, pushing the pony and cart back and forth, staring at the moving legs.  
“How old are you, Frodo?” Bofur asked, gently.  
Frodo wordlessly held up one full hand, fingers spread wide, and two more on the second hand.  
“Oh, seven. So you’re a big boy.” Bofur said, and Frodo nodded. “Do you think a big boy like you could take good care of a toy like this one?” Bofur asked.  
Frodo looked up at him with those huge blue eyes if possible even wider, “…yes…” he whispered.  
“Then it’s yours.” Bofur smiled.  
“Thank you!” Frodo squeaked, bouncing to his feet and giving the Dwarf a hug, complete with smooch on the cheek, “Thank you Uncle Bofur!” He snatched up the toy and ran toward the kitchen,  
“Uncle Bilbo! Look! Look!”  
“Oh, isn’t that nice.” Bilbo said, then peered back into the entryway where Bofur was picking himself back up. “Uncle Bofur already?” He teased, eyes laughing, “Come on, I’ve got some food for you.”  
“So, what brings…” Bofur nodded toward Frodo, who’s horse and wagon were currently galloping up and down the kitchen wall as the Dwarf sat down to a table of chicken pie, apples and cheese, and a big tankard of ale… for starters.  
“Oh, Frodo.” Bilbo laughed a little at the ridiculousness of the situation, “Normally he would have stayed at Brandy Hall in Buckland with his mother’s family, but he couldn’t today, and since I’m related to both of his parents, they’re my cousins from different sides of the family, and my house was on the way… but I don’t mind, he’s a sweet boy.”  
“And… how long…” Bofur asked, resting his hand on Bilbo’s thigh, giving a little squeeze and enjoying how the Hobbit blushed, his breath catching slightly.  
“They’ll pick him up around sunset…” Bilbo said, not without a trace of regret, “You know, I wasn’t _expecting_ you for another week…”  
“You like surprises.” Bofur assured him.  
“No I do _not_!” Bilbo protested, smacking the Dwarf on the shoulder, and Bofur laughed, unrepentant.  
“I can think of a few surprises you like…” Bofur gave Bilbo the hungriest up-and-down look he could muster, which, considering it had been a few months, and he’d just had the prize pulled out from under his nose…  
“You stop that!” Bilbo protested, blushing. “Frodo, come have some apples and cheese before this glutton of a Dwarf finishes it all off.”  
“Over the stove…” Frodo narrated his horse and wagon’s journey toward his snack, “Down the cupboard… under the table… across muddy boots… up the chair…”  
Frodo sat himself next to Bofur, offering him a huge smile, and grabbing a few pieces of apple and cheese.  
“Muddy boots, hmm…” Bilbo was looking at Bofur with a mixture of amusement and exasperation… the kind of look that Bofur would love to kiss right off his face… but he couldn’t really be mad at Frodo, who’s horse and cart was now adventuring across “the dangerous mountains”… Bofur’s arm.  
“How many times do I have to tell you…” Bilbo started, and Bofur interrupted, doing his very best ‘Bilbo voice’ interpretation.  
“Don’t track mud across the carpet! Leave those filthy boots outside! Do you know how long it took me to get the carpets clean after the _last_ time?”  
Bilbo sighed, shaking his head and laughing at his Dwarf, “You can mock me but you can’t keep my carpets clean.”  
“Dwarves cannot be tamed.” Bofur assured him, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically, and finishing off the last piece of the chicken pie with the last of his ale.  
“Now… what’s for seconds?”

It had been a long and pleasant (if sexually frustrating) day, as Bofur and Bilbo caught up on all the news and waited for Frodo’s parents to take him away. All their friends in Erebor were doing well, Bombur’s wife had produced yet another fat healthy child, and Dain Ironfoot was pleased with Bofur’s work as his representative to the miners in the Blue Mountains. Bilbo still could hardly believe the luck Bofur had had getting such a job – he spent his winters in Erebor, homeland of his heart, his summers in the Blue Mountains, where he’d spent most of his life… and the springs and falls he spent with Bilbo in the Shire.  
That is not to say that Bilbo sat around at home waiting for him… though he did spend most of his time in the Shire, he often traveled to the Blue Mountains or, occasionally, to the Lonely Mountain with his Dwarf. When Bofur lived with him, Bilbo made sure to Hobbitize the Dwarf, keeping him clean and dressing him in the best fashion… and when Bilbo traveled with Bofur, he was Dwarfed up… it caused quite the sensation in Hobbiton when he came home, weatherbeaten, lean and dirty, dressed in rough fabrics, furs, and a piece or two of light armor, his knife on his side, and his hair grown long and shaggy with beads and braids here and there in it.  
It was growing dark out, and the chill of the early spring evening was settling on the hill. Bilbo had lit a fire in the hearth, and moved a thick rug in front of it, where they could all three lay and enjoy the crackling of the fire… they hadn’t meant to, really, but Bofur and Bilbo had ended up snuggled up together, while Frodo, who was still fascinated by his new toy, narrated a journey it was taking, crawling across the carpet and occasionally across them.  
The doorbell rang, and Bilbo sat up from where he had been half-drowsing in Bofur’s arms.  
“That’ll be your parents, Frodo, gather up your stuff.” He said, stretching and standing up to help the young Hobbit find his cloak.  
“I see Bofur’s shown up again!” Primula said, pointing at Bofur’s mattock outside the door as she accepted Frodo from Bilbo, “We’ll just… leave you be, then. Thank you again so much for looking out for Frodo, I hope he was no problem?”  
“Oh, not at all, not at all.” Bilbo assured her, making sure Frodo had his things.  
“Now say goodbye.” Primula urged her son, and Frodo grinned up at Bilbo, “Bye Uncle Bilbo!” He then leaned back in the door, “Bye Uncle Bofur!” He shouted back into the house, and Bofur’s voice echoed back out of the house, wishing him goodbye.  
Then, finally, they were gone, and Bilbo and Bofur were alone, and what came next was sweeter for the waiting.  
They were eighty five and a hundred and eighty one years old.

“Let’s see this toy?” Drogo asked, and Frodo handed it over. He was walking cheerfully between his parents as they made their way home in the dusk. Drogo tried the wheels, whistling in surprised appreciation when the pony’s legs clicked up and down, prancing.  
“Look at that…” Drogo said, handing it to Primula so she could look it over too.  
“Uncle Bofur gave it to me.” Frodo said brightly, taking his father’s hand and smiling up at him.  
“And why do you call him Uncle?” Drogo asked curiously.  
“Because he’s married to Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
“Why would you think that?” Drogo was confused.  
“Mama said…” Frodo explained, taking his mother’s hand too, hanging between his parent’s arms, “That kisses are for married people.”  
Drogo sputtered a bit, looking desperately toward Primula for guidance, but she laughed, rolling her eyes at him.  
“Oh, really, Drogo.” She giggled, “Don’t pretend you’re the only Hobbit in the shire that doesn’t _know_.”

Bilbo had fallen asleep listening to the thunderstorm, hoping that Bofur was not out in it, that he had a safe inn or at least a cave to camp in for the night, if he was traveling.  
He was awoken in the night by his front door crashing open and a loud shout.  
“Bilbo!”  
“Stop there! Don’t track mud through the house!” Bilbo was shouting before he was even completely awake, rolling out of bed and staggering through the darkened house toward the door.  
Bofur was obediently waiting, and Bilbo sighed, closing the door behind him so no more rain would blow in… then just shook his head, looking at his bedraggled Dwarf, who quite literally _squelched_ when he moved, a huge silly grin on his face.  
“Why, Bofur?” Bilbo asked, lighting a candle and setting to work undressing the Dwarf.  
“Well, the weather looked foul in the afternoon, and I thought to myself I would stop at the next spot that looked sheltered… but I didn’t find one!”  
“So you walked through half the night…”  
“More than half, now.” Bofur corrected, “It’s almost morning.”  
“So you walked through the whole night, in a thunderstorm… why?”  
“…missed you.” He said, quietly, pulling Bilbo in for a kiss that left the Hobbit soggy and muddy too.  
“Really, Bofur…” Bilbo chided, pulling the Dwarf in for a gentle headbutt, but he couldn’t help but feel a _little_ happy.  
When he’d finally wrestled Bofur out of his soggy clothes, he wrapped him in a huge Man-sized towel (he’d purchased it for just such occasions) and led him in to sit by the fire, which he stoked as hot as he could, setting a huge pot on top and filling it with water for a bath. For all his joking, Bofur looked chilled to the bone.  
“How long has it been since you ate?” Bilbo asked, knowing the Dwarf’s habit of forgetting to stop for meals when he got close to the Shire.  
“Breakfast.” Bofur said, drying his hair with a corner of the towel.  
“What am I going to do with you?” Bilbo asked, lighting a second candle.  
“Love me.” Bofur answered.  
“Well, I can’t seem to help _that_.” Bilbo yawned, going into the pantry to look for food for his starving Dwarf. He came back out with cold rabbit stew, thick slices of crusty bread with butter, and a plateful of jam tarts… for starters. The Hobbit leaned against his Dwarf while he ate, half asleep and just enjoying his solidity and the way he always smelled of warm metal… even in times like now when there was a definite undertone of wet dog in there too.  
Soon enough the water was hot, and Bofur helped pour it into the tub, and they mixed it with cold until it was just right, and both climbed in together.  
“It’s a bit of luck that Frodo isn’t here tonight.” Bilbo said as they sleepily washed one another.  
“Why would he be here?” Bofur asked, surprised.  
“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard…” Bilbo’s brain seemed fuzzy with interrupted sleep, “Primula and Drogo… there was a boating accident and they both… they’re gone. Frodo, he’s only twelve, he’s staying over at Brandy Hall with his mother’s family, but when it gets too much over there with all his cousins, he comes over here for a quiet evening with me.”  
“ah… poor lad.” Bofur sympathized, running his hands through Bilbo’s damp curls.  
“I’m fond of him.” Bilbo said, finally convinced he had gotten all the mud off of Bofur and rearranging himself to recline comfortably against the gray-haired Dwarf, “I’m thinking… if he grows into the promise he’s showing… I’ll make him my heir.”  
“That’ll annoy the Sackville-Bagginses.” Bofur laughed, and then yawned heavily.  
“All right, to bed with us, I think.” Bilbo said.  
They dried one another, and then finally made their way to Bilbo’s bed, which had gone completely cold by now. Bilbo drew the curtains to keep out the light of the dawn, which he could tell was not far off, and they cuddled down into the feather mattress and the fluffy comforters. They spooned, Bofur putting his arms around Bilbo and holding tight to his chest… his breathing soon slowing into exhausted sleep, but the grip on his Hobbit never loosening.  
They were ninety and a hundred and eighty six years old.

There was a good deal of excitement in the Shire surrounding Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, especially since it was a shared birthday with his heir Frodo, who was turning thirty three and becoming an adult.  
Bilbo had ordered a good deal of presents from Erebor and Dale, and Bofur had brought them in a wagon all the way across the misty mountains.  
He knew Bilbo’s plans, of course… and he had quit his position working for Dain Ironfoot… it seemed to him, now, at two hundred and seven years old, and never knowing how much longer Bilbo could give him, that his best interests were served by traveling with Bilbo wherever he wanted to go.  
It was not as though he needed to worry about income, his share of the treasure of Erebor was more than enough to adventure on for three lifetimes.  
Bilbo came out excitedly to meet them when they pulled up in front of Bag End. He gave a big hug to Bofur… as much as he dared with the neighbors all curiously watching… and then did a double-take when he saw who his Dwarf’s companions had been on the trip.  
“Old Bombur’s finally letting you out to have adventures?” He asked, smiling at Bofur’s niece and nephew, Bombur’s two eldest children.  
“You’ve grown so much!” He said, fondly drawing each one in for a soft headbutt, pushing them away to admire them. “Look at those beards already! You take after your father in that…” He tweaked the two young Dwarves’ chins, making them blush.  
“We’re not children, Uncle Bilbo.” the eldest tried, “I’m nearly seventy!”  
“Uncle Bofur!” Frodo had come out to see what the commotion was, and hit Bofur with a flying hug tackle. The white-haired Dwarf took it in stride, slapping Frodo heartily on the back, pushing him away to admire how grown-up he looked, ruffling his curly dark hair.  
“Now, off to play!” Bilbo ordered Frodo and Bofur’s niece and nephew, “Uncle Bofur and I need to talk.”  
“So… we’re basically cousins?” Bombur’s youngest asked Frodo as they wandered way… and Bilbo knew that the trio were going to be good friends… and probably get in at least a little trouble if they joined up with Merry and Pippin too.  
“There is something very important I need to say to you in the house.” Bilbo said, grabbing his Dwarf by the sleeve and towing him into the house, away from the prying eyes of his neighbors.

The party seemed to have gone well, Bilbo appeared back in the house, laughing at himself and his surprised guests, and winking at Bofur, who, with his relatives, had packed everything Bilbo had said he wanted to take.  
He spoke for a while with Gandalf… and then they left, their packs on their backs and the whole world ahead of them.  
“Where to first? Bofur asked, and Bilbo smiled, breathing deep.  
“Rivendell, I think.” Bilbo decided, “I know it’s not your favorite, but I haven’t been there in a long time…”  
“Rivendell it is!” Bofur agreed, “Now let’s get out of the Shire before someone spots us and ruins your joke!”  
It was very late when they stopped for the evening, in an out-of-the-way place where no one was likely to notice them. They made only a small fire, sitting around it for a little while before bed. Bofur played a small tune on his flute, and Bilbo rummaged around in his pack, looking for something.  
“Forgot your handkerchief?” Bofur teased, and Bilbo smacked him on the shoulder for it, but he was laughing at the joke too.  
“Ah, here they are!” Bilbo said, proudly pulling out a small pouch. He also brought out a needle and thread, and settled down beside Bofur, curling into his Dwarf’s warmth.  
He gently tipped the contents of the pouch into his hand, and Bofur gasped.  
“You kept them all these years?” Bofur asked, reaching out to touch the five mismatched buttons.  
“Of course I did, it was one of the first times I felt really welcome… like I was family.”  
“We couldn’t have you throwing yourself to the Wargs again.” Bofur laughed, and Bilbo kissed him to shut him up. Bombur’s two eldest were curiously peering at the Hobbit’s hand, trying to see what was being talked about.  
“I lost my buttons, on our first adventure together.” Bilbo smiled at Bofur, explaining to the young Dwarves. “So the Company made me some more.” he lifted each button, explaining it.  
“This is the last brass button… the one that didn’t come off… I always thought of it as being lucky for that, you know?” The button was battered and tarnished, and he handed it to Bofur, who passed it around.  
“This one Bofur made for me.” He said, softly, stroking the faded wooden button, then passing it along.  
“I broke the first few I made, but this one was good. I’m surprised it’s lasted so long.” Bofur added.  
“Dwalin made me this one, carved out of Warg bone.” Bilbo said, holding the barrel-shaped button up to the fire.  
“I think he wanted to thank you for getting to Thorin first, to protect him… but Dwalin was never the best with things like that.” Bofur added, “He wouldn’t let anyone see him carve the button, but we’d catch him at it sometimes.”  
“And Dori made me this one… it’s just wool yarn and pine pitch but look how it shines…” Bilbo held up the domed amber button.  
“He stole some of Ori’s cardigan for it… and you should have heard him curse when he started to get the knots wrong!” Bofur laughed.  
“And this last one…” Bilbo held up the square stone button, light green, with the holes set on the diagonal. “this one…” He choked up a little bit, turned into Bofur’s chest.  
Bofur gently took the button from him, stroked his back, “This button was made by Fili and Kili, heirs of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain. They passed it back and forth, working on it together until it was perfect… Together in this as in everything.”  
Bombur’s children took this last button reverently, looking at it wide-eyed… and when they were done looking they gave the buttons back, and Bilbo cut the five shiny gold buttons off his waistcoat and sewed the five mismatched buttons in their place.  
There.” Bilbo said, putting his waistcoat back on, admiring his odd buttons, smiling up at Bofur, who held him tight. “Now I’m ready for an adventure!”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Saudade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/861773) by [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut)




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